


It’s my Birthday and I can cry if I want to

by valantha



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Birthday Fluff, Childhood, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, post-recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Jemma cried on her birthday.</p><p>Happy Birthday Jemma!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sixth Birthday

Jemma straightened her brand-new lovely sundress, and squatted to rub a scuffmark off of her Mary Janes – belatedly realizing she should have reversed the order. She re-centered her Matilda-style hair ribbon, eagerly awaiting her birthday party. Or, to be more precise, eagerly awaiting the _end_ of her birthday party.

The Simmons’ doorbell rang and Jemma ran to open it. She was 6 now – old enough to check for strangers and open the door.

It was Juliette and Mrs. Williams.

Jemma held the door open and politely thanked them for coming. Juliette handed her a pink wrapped and be-ribboned box – the right dimensions for a Barbie.

Jemma thanked her and placed the box on the table with the party favors.

The doorbell kept ringing, Jemma kept politely welcoming her guests, the table began to fill with gifts she was uninterested in, and the living room began to fill with Mrs. Simmons’ Mothers Group friends and their daughters.

Jemma was painstakingly polite, accepting the adults’ complements on outfit, hair and general appearance with grace.

When all of the guests had arrived Mrs. Simmons began the first activity – musical chairs. The game was fun and only one girl burst into tears when she got out. After two full rounds – with small stuffed animal prizes for the two winners – it was time for the next activity: an elaborate treasure hunt.

Jemma – as birthday girl – was given the first the first clue to read aloud, “Where do rubber duckies live?”

The girls tore off through the house to the bathroom. Jemma was swept up among them, but Suzanna was clearly the ringleader.

Four clues later, the mob ended up in the backyard for a magical teddy-bear tea party (if Jemma still believed in magic). Each of the mothers had secretly brought their daughter’s favorite stuffed animals, and they were waiting out in the backyard with treats. There were tiny little scones and chocolate biscuits and raspberry jam and sweetened milk tea.

Jemma felt so grownup, drinking tea out of real – if mismatched – china in her pretty sundress with Helen, but the illusion was ruined when someone ‘borrowed’ Juliette’s stuffed unicorn without asking and the whole assembly was running around stealing and reclaiming stuffed animals. Suzanna stole Helen as the mothers looked on complacently, and Jemma disappeared to her room – by way of the restroom – just for a minute. Soon the party would be over, and then it would be dinner, and then she could open the big box from Mum and Da – her long awaited telescope. Maybe she could stay up late tonight and use it to see Jupiter’s moons, or the surface of Mars, or Mir!

When Jemma returned to the party, the girls had run off most of their excess energy and were decorating tea mugs. Jemma drew blue stars all over hers, mentally hurrying the other girls along.

When the mugs were decorated and the extra food was cleared away, it was present time.

The girls gathered round – each with their reclaimed best stuffed-animal friend – and Jemma began the process of opening her gifts. She got three Barbies – a Princess Barbie, a Beach Barbie, and a Veterinary Assistant Barbie – a purple stuffed unicorn that matched Juliette’s, and a friendship bracelet kit. Jemma admired each of the gifts, thanked the gift-giver, and passed the gift around the circle to be ooohed and ahhhed over properly.

That duty completed, Jemma passed out the party favors and waited (im)patiently for Mum to say goodbye to her friends.

Goodbyes were said, promises of play dates and coffee made universally, and then they were gone!

Jemma put away her new toys and was a good girl and helped her Mum clean up after the party.

For dinner they had pot roast – Jemma’s favorite – and then it was time to open the family presents. From Aunt Jill and Uncle Steven she got a book about Mae Jemison! From Aunt Sarah and Uncle Mike she got a LEGO pirate ship. From Grandma and Grandpa Simmons she got a children’s abridged version of The Secret Garden – she’d already read the original – and some interesting looking seeds. From Grandma Wright she got a LEGO knight kit.

And then, the thing she’d been eagerly awaiting all day, it was time to open her big gift from Mum and Dad. Her very own telescope.

Dad carefully carried the large wrapped box to the cleared dinner table and it took every gram of Jemma’s self control to restrain herself from bouncing up and down in her seat. She was 6 years old; she could sit quietly.

He placed the box in front of her – her very own telescope was within her reach. Despite her unparalleled excitement, she did not resort to tearing the wrapping paper off like a maniac, but tore it off neatly, revealing a **_microscope_**?!?!?!?!?!

That couldn’t be! She opened the box in some sort of shock-like fugue state. Yes, a _micro_ scope.

Jemma burst into tears and ran from the room. Hadn’t she been a good girl? Hadn’t she been polite and done her chores?! Why would her parents do this to her?! A microscope was useless! How could she become the second British woman in space with a microscope?!

Jemma slammed her bedroom door shut and dove into her stuffed animal covered bed, throwing the intruding unicorn across the room and sobbingly telling Helen her disappointments.

Her Mum called through the door to ask what was wrong, and Jemma – uncharacteristically – shouted at her to go away. Jemma cried and cried and cried. She cried out the stress of the birthday party, the shock and disappointment of the microscope, and eventually cried herself to sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, her sundress had been hung up in her closet and the hateful microscope perched on her child-sized desk. Beside the loathsome object were the other family presents, including the new Mae Jemison biography. Jemma flew through the book – she knew everything about Mae Jemison already – and noticed a similarly styled children’s biography on a Rosalind Franklin.

Jemma curled up in bed and read about Rosalind Franklin, a young woman from Notting Hill who discovered the structure of DNA.

 _Maybe_ her microscope wasn’t quite as loathsome as she thought…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Helen Sharman](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Sharman) was Jemma's childhood hero. She was the first Briton in space and was born in Sheffield. She is a chemist and worked for Mars Inc. on chocolate. Pretty heroic eh?


	2. Nineteenth Birthday

Simmons tumbled from bed, progressed through her absolutions by rote, and hurried to the cafeteria to grab a quick breakfast before heading into lab. She ran into Fitz – almost literally – on her way out of the cafeteria, and he looked more than a little preoccupied with something.

Simmons shrugged and focused on the protocol for today’s membrane lipid composition assay.

The assay went pretty smoothly for a first-time experiment, and when Jemma took a break for lunch she felt fairly confident about her work.

Fitz was no where to be found at lunch – not atypical since their experimental/design breaks didn’t necessarily line up – but Jemma was a little disappointed. She had remembered Fitz’ preoccupation, and it normally helped to bounce ideas off of one another.

While she ate, Simmons read the theoretical underpinnings of the lipid assay – the partition function for lipid solubilization in different solvents depending on head group and aliphatic chain composition – which was actually far more interesting than she would have thought.

Simmons returned to the lab full of renewed vigor, understanding the importance of the assay more fully than before.

At the end of the day Simmons dumped her mostly-melted ice bucket out into the sink before heading back to her computer to follow up on one of the more interesting aspects of the assay in a lit. review but had only entered a few search terms into PubMed when Fitz stopped by.

“Hey, are ye gonna stop soon fur dinner?” Fitz asked.

Jemma checked the clock – it was only six, and Fitz rarely stopped so early, he must be having issues.

“Yeah, umm sure,” Jemma said logging off of her computer. If Fitz needed to bounce ideas off of her, it was far more important than doing some background reading.

Fitz was more awkward than normal during the walk to the cafeteria, fiddling with the straps of his book-bag. He must really be having technical difficulties with a prototype to be this agitated.

Fitz pulled up short of the cafeteria, leading them into a conversation nook with a large bay window overlooking a quad – The Academy, or at least the Sci-Tech Academy loved the collegiate architectural style.

Fitz dropped the book-bag onto a chair and proceeded to dig around in his messy bag-of-holding.

Instead of the lopsided prototype Jemma was expecting, Fitz pulled out a gift bag – complete with rumpled tissue paper protruding from the bag.

“Happy Birthday, Jemma,” Fitz said, holding the bag out like it was a bomb – no, like it was full of dirty diapers.

Simmons took the bag, more than a little startled to realize that yes, it was her birthday. She’d not had anyone to celebrate her birthday with during grad school – both of them – so she’d gotten out of the habit of considering September 11th to have any personal importance.

Jemma smiled at Fitz – amused by his discomfort – and wordlessly asked if she was supposed to open the gift right now. With a slight nod Fitz commanded she do so, and Jemma dug around in the tissue paper to brush up against a soft furred body. Did Fitz get her a stuffed monkey?

She pulled out a tan fuzzy prolate ellipsoid with numerous ribbon flagella. It also had cartoony eyes and a label proclaiming it was _E. coli_. Fitz had gotten her a giant (1,000,000X actual size) stuffed microbe!

Jemma tackled him in an engulfing hug – her right hand still clutching her favorite model organism. She brushed her lips against his cheek and said, “Thank you Leo.”

Jemma released him to study her gift and when she glanced back up – Fitz oddly hadn’t made a sound – he was bright red. She’d never seen the pale Scot have so much color, even after that one day of poor decisions at the beach that had turned him boiled-lobster red.

Fitz muttered and grumbled – which was just more endearing – and it took every microgram of Simmons’ British reserve to restrain herself from laughing at bright red, flustered Fitz.

Jemma returned the _E. coli_ to the gift bag – for safekeeping – and asked Fitz to hold onto the bag as she went to the loo.

Fitz agreed and Simmons made it to the safety of the women’s washroom before succumbing to the threatening gales of laughter. Fitz was such a remarkable odd duck. You’d think he’d never been kissed on the cheek by a woman before – which simply had to be rubbish, he was such an adorable, brilliant man.

Simmons laughed so hard she cried a bit and it had been _years_ since she’d laughed that hard.

Eventually Jemma was able to curtail her laughter and wash the evidence of her tears of laughter from her face. She found Fitz and proceeded to thank him for the gift while doing him the favor of not mentioning how red he had been – he had almost returned to his normal color. Throughout dinner she rambled on about how _E. coli_ was her favorite model organism because of its fast growth, short generation time, and the ease of mucking about with its genome. A wild type _E. coli_ could double in 20 minutes and many lab strains could grow similarly fast. It was quite easy to ‘trick’ an _E. coli_ into taking up some foreign DNA and make it make a new protein. Currently large vats of _E. coli_ are grown to make human insulin to treat diabetes saving both the diabetics and the calves previously slaughtered to harvest their pancreases.

This ramble eventually put Fitz off his feed – a hard thing to do – and Simmons apologized for the mucky-stuff, allowing the conversation to shift back to Fitz’ research for the remainder of the meal.

To Jemma’s surprise, her birthday celebration was not just limited to the gift, but Fitz had also planned a Classic Doctor Who mini-marathon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's stuffed _[E. coli](http://www.thinkgeek.com/product/6708/)_ , my favorite model organism too!


	3. Twenty-seventh Birthday

“Jemma?” Fitz called softly.

Jemma promptly paused her experiment and turned around to face Fitz. Over the past few months her awareness of Fitz had been hyperextended, hyperfocused. Ever since ‘The Event’.

Luckily, Fitz had only been in a coma for seven days – six days, 22 hours, and 37 minutes – and his rehab had proceeded in what all the ‘medical experts’ called a reasonable pace, but still he was having trouble with his fine motor skills, balance, and complained about ‘fuzziness’.

Jemma had to keep an eye on Fitz, as he was wont to go from mildly frustrated to full-on meltdown in 15 seconds flat. And she felt guilty.

If she hadn’t slept so long; if she had thought of igniting the medpod window seal earlier; if she had convinced Fitz to wait before igniting it; if she had come up with a better alternate plan; if she had been a stronger swimmer…

The guilt welled up inside her every time Fitz fumbled a word or dropped his fork. She ruthlessly squashed the guilt down – she didn’t have time to feel guilty, she didn’t deserve to feel guilty. Feeling guilty wouldn’t change anything; the only thing that would make it up to Fitz was to aid him in his rehab to the best of her abilities.

But enough woolgathering.

Fitz was sitting on his stool by his bench in The Playground lab and it was impossible to ignore the differences the past three months had wrought. He was thinner, having lost weight and muscle mass during his coma and convalesce, and paler, and there was something _off_ about his behavior.

“I need tae go back tae my bunk, would ye help me?” Fitz asked.

Though the layout of The Playground was far more suited to the needs of a convalescent than The Bus would have been, the hallways from lab to bunk were long. Fitz would have managed fine – and frequently claimed to do so – had it not been for the regularly spaced swipe access points, which simultaneously taxed his balance and fine motor skills.

Jemma agreed readily, and quickly stashed her samples back into the fridge for later. Fitz rarely asked for the help he needed.

Fitz loaded his helper-drone Zazu with his sketchpad and StarkPad, grumbling about how Koenig 2.0 wouldn’t let him interface Zazu with The Playground’s operating system and let him by-pass the access points.

This was an old grievance and Jemma characteristically ignored his grumblings. She held the lab door open for Fitz and Zazu, though Zazu could have managed it himself, and redirected Fitz’s rant by pondering aloud about what Skye and Trip were up to Outside.

Theories about ice cream shop escapades (part 2) and the untrustworthiness of all hair-cutting professionals – a sore point for Fitz as his luscious curls had been unceremoniously shorn during his coma – carried them through checkpoints four and three. Midway between checkpoint three and their final destination, Fitz’ gait became more choppy and the conversation lagged. Jemma’s guilt bubbled to the surface anew. She walked slowly beside Fitz neither pressuring him to let her help nor babbling to distract him from concentrating on the once truly instinctive process of _walking_.

Zazu magnetically opened the door to Fitz’ bunk – larger and more impersonal than his old bunk on The Bus – and Fitz slumped on the floor, missing his bed entirely.

Jemma had been waiting just outside his bedroom door, but bolted forth to check on Fitz.

Fitz waved her off, “I meant tae do that ye ninny!” Fitz claimed whilst digging around under his bed.

Jemma wrung her hands, needing to help Fitz but knowing that he needed his independence more than her assistance. Zazu – more literally – hovered nearby.

“Ah ha!” Fitz proclaimed from three-quarters beneath his bed.

It took Fitz a good two minutes to work his way out from his bed but once he had done so, he proffered Jemma a small velvet box.

Jemma didn’t know what to say – or think – as she soundlessly took the box from Fitz’ hands and watched as he levered himself onto the bed.

They hadn’t talked about _that_ since that one time while Fitz was still doped up on morphine. She knew this détente wouldn’t last forever, but she didn’t want to hurt him either. Jemma loved him, loved him deeply, but not in the manner he loved her.

Jemma stroked the velvet box with one thumbpad trying to think of how to tell him without breaking him.

“Go oan, open ‘er up,” Fitz prompted.

Jemma hesitated a bit longer, and then dove in, resolutely flipping the lid open to reveal… earrings.

Silver Sonic Screwdriver Earrings.

10th Doctor to be precise.

With blue gems on the tips.

Jemma didn’t know what to say.

“Happy birthday Jemma,” Fitz said softly, wistfully.

“They’re lovely, but…” Jemma started.

“But ye dinnae love me,” Fitz completed.

Jemma nodded, starring at the earrings, unable to meet Fitz’ eyes and see the pain revealed there.

“And that’s okay. Best friends?” Asked Fitz, fear of rejection coating each word.

“Best friends,” Jemma replied resolutely. She hesitated a few moments before engulfing him in a hug. Fitz was stiff initially, but relaxed into the embrace.

A tear or two leaked from Jemma’s eyes. They hadn’t said much – in words – but she now thought they’d be able to sort things out. They were both too afraid of hurting or losing one another for honesty, but maybe now things could – not get back to normal, that was impossible but – get better.

Jemma began stroking Fitz’ close-cropped curls and physically felt the past three month’s tensions dissipate from his form. They were here, they were here together, they were here together and things would get better.

The first teary-scouts foretold of battalions and Jemma bawled into Fitz’s shoulder as he cried into hers.

After some unnamable period of time Fitz tensed, and regretfully Jemma released him. He knuckled the tail-scouts from his red eyes and snorted back some – manly – tear-snot. Jemma left her tears where they lay but – with slightly more grace – sniffed back her tear-snot.

“Best friends?” she asked with phlegm-laden voice.

“Best friends,” he replied solidly.

Jemma picked up the Sonic Screwdriver earrings – they had fallen to floor at some point during their hug – and turned to leave Fitz.

She paused momentarily at the doorway and Fitz called after her, “Happy Birthday Simmons.”

She turned and grinned at him. A full, true grin. A grin without reservations. 


End file.
